Cassandra Voices

Tag: Garreth Byrne

  • Carnsore Point: Ireland Goes Nuclear

    In 1977 Fianna Fáil Minister for Industry and Commerce, Desmond O’Malley, announced the government’s intention to build a nuclear power reactor at Carnsore Point, where the Irish Sea meets the southern Atlantic. Members of Cork Friends of the Earth, along with other groups and individuals, decided to oppose the idea.

    Four rallies by opponents of nuclear power took place each August at Carnsore Point in Co. Wexford from 1978 until 1981. I attended each rally and helped to write reports and observations in a fringe peace magazine that I helped to produce, called DAWN – an Irish Journal of Nonviolence.  I won’t attempt to write a comprehensive account of the anti-nuclear campaign. I recommend Simon Dalby’s pamphlet as a good starting point for anybody researching the matter.

    I want to mention about half a dozen names: Mary Phelan, Eoin Dinan, Adi and Sean Roche,  Christy Moore, American scientist Keith Haight and his South African born wife Maureen Kip Sing (Chinese ethnicity), Petra Kelly (German Green Party MEP), some of whom I encountered.

    Simon Dalby studied at Trinity College Dublin for his first degree and subsequently did a Masters at what is now the University of Limerick. He wrote an account of the Carnsore anti-nuclear rallies and the national campaigning of various anti-nuclear groups. This was published in A4 pamphlet form by DAWN magazine. A comprehensive history of the antinuclear movement remains to be written, outlining the pro- and anti- arguments put forward in public meetings and radio-tv discussions during those years.

    Simon Dalby’s article, ‘The Nuclear Syndrome. Victory for the Irish Anti-Nuclear Movement’  was first published in Dawn Train No. 3 Winter 1984-85 and is now lodged in the University of Limerick archives. The U.L. description begins: The collection comprises published and unpublished material collected by Simon Dalby for the preparation of his MA thesis, Political Ecology: A Study of the Irish Anti-Nuclear Movement, for the University of Victoria (Canada) in 1982. Published material includes articles; books, booklets and pamphlets; conference proceedings, speeches and public lectures; EEC communiqués; newsletters; periodicals; press cuttings; reports; and treaties and acts.

    German MEP Petra Kelly 1947-1992.

    First Rally

    The first Carnsore rally was held in August 1978. Attractive posters listing ballad and rock groups that had agreed to perform were circulated around Dublin, Cork and other towns. Get to the Point was the slogan. Right from the start free music was on offer to protesters. I am not sure if a chartered diesel train termed The Anti-Nuclear Express was arranged by Mary Phelan that year, but I took the train from Westland Row station down to Rosslare with Mary Condren. Passengers brought drinks and sandwiches for the trip and were ferried by buses to the rally site. There they were greeted by volunteers directing them to a huge marquee on which they could place sleeping bags and groundsheets. Information about toilets, a concert and public discussion venue, and food. Another area was available for people who had brought their own tents.

    Mary Phelan was originally from Waterford City and had lived in West Germany for a few years, where she befriended German Green Party MEP Petra Kelly (whose Irish-sounding name came from her stepfather, a U.S. army officer stationed in Germany). Mary Condren was a Dubliner who had studied in Hull University and became interested in feminist theology and journalism. She obtained seed money from feminist contacts in the USA, notably New York, and asked Mary Phelan to co-run a Resources Centre in Rathgar Road.

    The resources centre was supposed to earn rent from groups using the facilities and gradually become self-financing. That aim was not fulfilled alas. Many anti-nuclear activists visited the Resources Centre, even though it was not intended as a central contact point. The downstairs office was used to cut stencils and roll off on a Gestetner inky duplicator copies of their magazine called Contaminated Crow.

    I worked in a basement office with Mary Condren honing my journalistic skills by producing a student magazine called Movement. Every other month with half a dozen people I also used the basement and the resources centre to produce a cut-and-paste periodical called DAWN.

    We had a Smith-Corona electric typewriter with disposable carbon ribbon cartridges – a laborious process that took 2 or 3 days to complete. On alternate months we met at Rob Fairmichael’s home in Ormeau Road Belfast. From early morning we could hear the rumbling of machinery in the Ormeau Bakery behind the house as daily bread was being baked for delivery around the city. A small backstreet business in the Lower Ormeau called The Print Workshop printed issues of DAWN at reasonable rates. Some of our pamphlets were prepared with typeset, after special fundraising, and laid out mainly by Rob. He was a good self-taught layout artist.

    The first rally drew everal thousand, including Sunday afternoon visitors from Wexford and other counties. There had been light rain on Saturday, but Sunday was glorious sunshine. On Monday morning an aerial photograph appeared on the front page of the Irish Times, making a great impression. The next day an eminent Professor of Jurisprudence at UCD, John Kelly, also a top politician in Fine Gael, issued a statement warning the government of the day, Fianna Fail, not to treat the protesters like children. He mentioned huge sit-down protests by antinuclear activists in Tokyo. The professor’s warning may have been somewhat exaggerated, but the publicity was gleefully welcomed by rallyists.

    On Sunday many individuals spoke from an open-air stage about their nuclear concerns. Visitors from France, Germany and Italy spoke of their vehement opposition. A continental European contribution to an Irish protest movement undoubtedly worried mainstream Irish politicians – they envisaged co-operation in the EEC with governments, bureaucrats and captains of industry. Instead they encountered opposition from unmoneyed, ad-hoc, uncontrollable protest groups.

    Free music concerts, headlined by Christy Moore and others, entertained crowds in the evenings. People sitting near the stage enjoyed free music. Others listened in other locations to amplifiers.

    Christy Moore

    Post-Rally Clean-Up

    After the crowds went home a lot of detritus had to be collected and carefully tidied away by voluntary workers. The latrines were maintained with copious shovels of sand and sprinklings of Jeyes Fluid during each rally. Then they were filled in. Recyclable bottles and drinks cans were brought to wherever money could be received. Paper was buried in pits for eventual decomposition. My colleague Eoin Dinan worked the latrines and supervised other maintenance activity. Ordinarily, he drove a taxi in Dublin. During the years of the Carnsore protests he made friends with people and went on to help  found the Dublin Food Co-Op.

    Eoin Dinan was a quiet individual who didn’t give platform speeches, but he contributed constructive suggestions at committee meetings. His taxi experience came into play when the Children of Chernobyl project was set up by Adi Roche and her husband Sean Dunne after the 1986 accident which released huge doses of radiation, connected to a host of diseases.

    Eoin helped with transport convoys carrying medical supplies, food and bottled water from Rosslare through France, Germany and elsewhere to hospitals in Belarus. It would be interesting to see maps of the routes taken. People in the UK, Germany and North America soon began to emulate the Cork project. Adi Roche published her book The Children of Chernobyl about the work, badly interrupted by the Covid lockdown of 2019-20.

    Adi Roche in 2024.

    Friendly Internal Criticism

    Some friendly criticism of Carnsore appeared in issues of DAWN. For instance, in number 51, probably from September 1980, Auveen Byrne of Cork Friends of the Earth remarked in a personal capacity: ‘…it involves en masse camping and thus mainly attracts ‘young trendies’ and passes up the opportunity to influence the greater portion of public opinion.’

    Also, in 1980 an unsigned article by a trade unionist said: ‘The third Carnsore anti-nuclear rally simply marked time for the movement to stop nuclear power and uranium mining. He added that ‘the six-pack brigade were bored’ by the dragging on of the event and the resort to recorded muzak on amplifiers when live concerts were finished.

    In DAWN 73 in the autumn of 1981 I signed a personal article with the headline ‘Labouring the Point – Which Way from Carnsore?’ in which I noted the declining numbers attending. I finished up with a suggestion that instead of being anti-whatever, interested activists might positively organise an Ecology Festival at a different venue and stress positive living.

    I met Maureen Kim Sing, an ethnic Chinese in exile from apartheid South Africa, and her academic freelance journalist husband Keith Haight from the U.S.. They spoke with detailed knowledge of nuclear power and radiation releases at Carnsore and meetings of groups at various venues throughout the year. Keith sold a couple of articles to the Irish Times and contributed many others to U.S. publications. They also spent time campaigning against apartheid.

    At Carnsore and elsewhere they conducted nonviolence workshops. Later they went to France and had a baby girl called Kim. She had automatic French citizenship, was brought to America when Keith resumed academic life, and has lived in continental Europe since Keith died in March 2005 and Maureen died in January 2006.

    Mary Phelan’s friendship with German Green Party MEP Petra Kelly, and Mary’s fluency in German, were important for forging links with anti-nuclear activists on the Continent.

    Although Petra Kelly visited Dublin for antinuclear conferences, I don’t think she visited Carnsore, but she did develop a strong rapport with the head of the ITGWU (today known as Siptu) John F. Carroll. They produced a pamphlet called ‘A Nuclear Ireland?’ in 1978, which was highly influential and came as a shock to government decision-makers.

    Mary Phelan presented on RTE radio programme on ecological and environmental matters. Later she worked on a Dublin FM channel called Radio Liffey, I think. After that she went west of the Shannon and lived in Galway from where she drove a campervan turned into a mobile studio. As a freelance radio documentary producer she interviewed the travel writer Dervla Murphy at her home in Lismore Co. Waterford. A 4-part series was broadcast by the national radio.

    In the early 1970s Mary helped produce a 12-page feminist magazine called Wicca in Dublin. She had a daughter who as a young adult went to India and was profoundly affected by chemical damage done by multinational companies. She remained in India promoting non-polluting energy systems and lifestyles. Mary Phelan died suddenly in March 2015. Her passing and key role in the anti-nuclear campaign was not noted in the national newspapers.

    Adi Roche was nominated by the Labour Party to contest the Presidential election of 1997. Eoin Dinan became her driver during the campaign and was described thus in an Irish Independent report: ‘Eoin Dinan, a Project director, former taxi-driver and quiet, supportive presence, is acting as her driver and personal support. Joe Noonan, a poker-faced Cork solicitor, veteran of the [Raymond] Crotty legal challenge to the SEA and friend of 15 years, is on hand for legal expertise.’

    It was a bruising campaign with five candidates, Mary McAleese eventually received 45.2 percent of the votes after the first count. Roche limped in with a mere 6.9 percent. She was later awarded the Tipperary Prize and other honours for her Chernobyl work.

    Dervla Murphy.

    Reminiscences

    Full Tilt: from Ireland to India with a bicycle, was the travel book that launched Dervla Murphy as a major travel writer. In 1981 she published a book in London called Race to the Finish? – the nuclear stakes.

    She was unimpressed by the Carnsore protests, which apparently she attended but did not speak at. On page 55 she caustically noted: ‘In 1979, at the Carnsore Point demonstration in county Wexford, I was aghast to find myself surrounded by Women’s Libbers, IRA representatives, Abortion for All, Hari Krishna and Co., the Communist Party of Ireland and sundry other enthusiasts for whom I feel little or no sympathy. In a rigidly conservative society like Ireland’s such hangers-on make it more difficult for the embryonic anti-nuke movement to gain support.’

    So what did the Carnsore anti-nuclear movement achieve? Firstly, it was an independently run, decentralised movement of Irish citizens and supporters from other countries. That cosmopolitan protest initiative caught mainstream politicians off guard.

    Moreover, Carnsore brought many individuals together who, after 1981, promoted environmental and non-consumerist lifestyles. Organic vegetable growing was promoted in Dublin and other areas. It is likely to have brought support to the Green Party/Comhaontas Glas. Some of the protesters eventually left the city for the countryside and contributed to wholesome rural alternatives. Major political figures today visit, in muddy wellingtons and raincoats, youth-oriented musical events like the Electric Picnic to pay tribute to The Youth, also called the yoof.

    Now that the ‘six-pack brigade’ are a lot older I wonder do they ponder the moon and the stars, and wonder about the meaning of it all? Do they reminisce about Carnsore and tell children and grandchildren about the good old days of free music?

  • The Comics of Yesteryear

    Most people whose Irish childhood was spent between the mid-1950s and mid-1960s wistfully remember the comics then available. They were mostly published by the DC Thomson company based in Aberdeen, Scotland. The Beano and The Dandy were read by boys and girls, and girls’ comics like Bunty and the School Friend (this for older girls) had wide appeal. For older Boys there were masculine comics like Hotspur, Tiger and Eagle, choc-a-bloc with soccer and World War II action stories. Brothers and sisters took an occasional peek at each other’s favourites out of curiosity.

    Nowadays I sometimes buy The Beano weekly or the Dandy Annual and give them to a woman I know who passes them on to her nieces and nephews. I notice that Lord Snooty and his Pals are still around; Desperate Dan still enjoys monster cow pies with an oxtail protruding through the side; the Bash Street Kids are up to their madcap antics, but they don’t get whacked nowadays by angry teacher because caning has been outlawed. Minny the Minx, tomboy forever, still enjoys smashing things with her home-made catapult, but is not smacked with her parent’s slipper. Multicultural Britain is deftly integrated into The Beano with Asian girls from Hindu and Muslim homes. Afro-Caribbean ethnicity is also given a place. There is no discussion as such about religious beliefs, but festive events like Christmas and Diwali are featured.

    Cultural Self-Confidence and Irish Comics

    Some efforts were made from the 1950s onwards to produce Irish comics that promoted the cultural norms and references of a state that broke from the values of the British Empire after 1922. These entrepreneurial efforts had limited success. Economies of scale was one limiting factor. The Irish population was either stagnant or only slowly increasing. The Irish comics had no income from advertising.

    In the 1950s there was a monthly Irish comic called The Leprechaun. In the 1960s and 1970s a comic titled Our Boys appeared, and one called An Gael Ōg which was for young readers learning Irish. These latter titles were produced by the Christian Brothers. Since the 1970s the educational Folens company has published Christmas annuals with titles like Súgra, Siamsa and Spraoi for parents to place beneath Christmas trees. Some Celtic themes, some aspects of contemporary life and some Irish language fun are included in the titles. These only appear once a year. Irish children still go to shops and newsagents to buy The Beano, Spiderman and a few American publications.

    Perhaps there’s a market for an Irish-produced monthly childrens’ comic? We have many illustrators of stimulating children’s books in Irish and English who could surely be attracted to such an enterprise. The movie animation industry in Ireland has contributed to films that were nominated for Bafta and Oscar awards. I hope some of this artistic talent can be garnered for the launch of a comic or two that Irish children and their parents would gladly read.

    Continental Comics

    Since the early twentieth century Italian children’s comics called fumetti (smoke puffs – the bubbles with cartoon dialogue) have appeared. During the turbulent 1930s and ‘40s chauvinism and fascism were extolled unfortunately, but contemporary Italy has happy-go-lucky children’s comics that appeal to nonpolitical tastes. In France and francophone Belgium since the early twentieth century there has been a plentiful supply of bandes dessinées comics. Astérix comic stories have portrayed ancient France to the delight of children and adults around the world for many decades.

    Incidentally, comics with lots of bubble dialogue are published by language teaching companies for people learning French and other foreign languages. The TEFL teaching English as a foreign language industry in Ireland could follow suit.

    A Zambian Comic

    While living in Zambia I occasionally read a comic called Orbit – the magazine for young Zambians, which was subsidised by the Ministry of Education. The magazine could be read by children from aged twelve upwards and promoted science, technology, nature study and fun within an African context. See this link for sample pages: Discovering “Orbit” – Zambia’s unique science and comic magazine – downthetubes.net.

    I recall posting copies of the comic to youthful Irish relatives and hope they absorbed positive impressions of African life.

    Indeed, at the Carnsore anti-nuclear rally in 1980 I sold specially imported copies of Orbit along with modern African novels and collections of proverbs.

    Perhaps, if kids today were to read more comics they might be less attracted to the dark world of the internet, and their imaginations might roam more freely. Finally, a comprehensive history of Irish comics might assist our understanding of the cultural formation of the children of yesteryear.

  • Local Government Falls Short

    Long ago I read a wry assertion that local government in Ireland is ‘central government locally organised’. The writer lamented that local authorities, especially county councils, have limited financial and other powers to provide local services and depend heavily on the financial largesse of central funds allocated by different government departments. It is different in other parts of continental Europe, where local administrations can garner money by levying local taxes and other charges on residents.

    In Ireland, councils have to go cap in hand trying to squeeze more money for repairing country roads, bridges and to provide access to historic sites. When it comes to local election campaigns one candidate can say ‘vote for me and I’ll get the rickety stone bridge repaired’, while another in a different townland will promise to fix the potholed road to Ballyhoo. If it is a seaside county, hopeful candidates may focus on a sea erosion or a fishing pier requiring urgent attention.

    County council electoral areas are divided into wards and these wards are divided into clusters of townlands allied to towns, villages and parishes. Ah yes, parishes. Too many county councillors are parochial in outlook and activity. They sit on county committees of various kinds, but their constant gaze is on minute details affecting their own electoral base.

    Another limiting factor is that no county stands alone. The issues facing people in one county also engage the minds of people in adjacent counties. And the issues spread out into regions and provinces. The regional aspect is acknowledged when a group of county councils agree to co-operate on attracting tourists. Sligo-Leitrim-Donegal tourism is a case in point. The successful national promotion of the Wild Atlantic Way – whoever coined the term deserves to be honoured on a postage stamp – has indeed brought domestic and foreign tourists to the region, but there are problems with accommodation during the high season.

    Moreover, while the wild jagged coastline of Donegal enthralls visitors from France and Italy, who cherish fish landed at Killybegs from waters not affected by nuclear power plants, not all county councillors are so enthused; representatives of inland areas hope the Atlantic tourers deviate inland and explore the rolling hills and pristine lakes, and the recreational activities these areas offer.

    Lough Glenade, County Leitrim.

    I know of one councillor, an owner of a pub serving good grub with live music on the weekends, who at his own expense printed brochures with a special map indicating routes for motorists and cyclists around the ward in which he is a public representative.

    My view is that elected councillors from neighbouring counties should meet formally at least twice a year to look at the overall regional picture and to consider concerted action on particular issues. Common concerns about infrastructure, social housing, waste disposal, potable water sources and environmental conservation need regional and provincial focus.

    Having Individual councils seek extra money for roads or piped water supplies is a recipe for loud speeches in council chambers. Bombastic councillors love these scenarios. They pound on the table to get their mugshots in the local papers.

    Such public figures like to pretend that they have a hot phone link to the relevant cabinet ministers. Civil servants in Dublin strengthen this impression by sending copies of new money allocations to T.D.s and councillors affiliated to the party in power. This allows T.D.s and councillors ‘to welcome the announcement by the Minister’. Waving magic wands and claiming special influence with central government is a game of smoke and mirrors.

    My plea to county councillors is: Think Regional and act Local.

    Feature Image: RUN 4 FFWPU

  • Leitrim’s Glass Half-Full

    In a recent article Frank Armstrong traces the historic decline in the population of Leitrim, triggered by the Famine of the mid-19th century. He notes that Leitrim County Council’s recent attempts to encourage people to buy and rehabilitate derelict cottages has been disappointing.

    This analysis is based on cogent statistical analysis. ESRI analysts have reached similar conclusions. As somebody who first became acquainted with Leitrim and the North-West of Ireland in the early 1980s – I went on to purchase a house through a non-profit housing organisation in the mid-1980s – I would have agreed with the glass-half-empty-pessimism.

    Decades later, however, as an inside-outsider with a physical stake in the county, I would argue that the historic decline has shifted and if only government and non-state actors can push the pull the right levers I am optimistic about the future.

    My childhood was spent in a Kildare village near the Curragh. After five years studying in Dublin I spent almost three-and-a-half years teaching English and promoting school agriculture in a remote boarding school in Zambia. After further book-learning I returned to a town school in Zambia and again promoted school food production in addition to my English language teaching duties.

    I grabbed an opportunity to leave the urban bubble of Dublin early in 1981 and took up a development education post based in Sligo. Much of my emphasis was on cultural education, using slides and attractive artifacts, touring schools and a few Irish Country Women’s groups in counties Sligo, Leitrim, Donegal and north Mayo.

    I spent six years until 1987 travelling around in a second-hand Renault van – the model then driven by An Post mail delivery personnel – organising hotel and community hall exhibitions in Sligo, Letterkenny and Ballina on development challenges in the Third World.

    Deserted Villages

    Enough about me. The visual and socio-emotional feel West of the Shannon was different from what I was accustomed to in Leinster.

    The rural hinterland, small villages and stagnating towns, had Third World characteristics, minus famine and ethnic wars. On crooked country boreens I came across ‘deserted villages’ with derelict schools and abandoned cottages.

    Oliver Goldsmith’s long poem The Deserted Village about Sweet Auburn came to mind. I thought parts of the North-West could figuratively be termed “a Sahel with rain”. Figurative language is colourful but has its limitations.

    At the same time, however, I saw positive attempts by blow-ins (incomers) from other parts of Ireland, the UK, Germany, the Netherlands, France – even a few from Italy – to restore dilapidated cottages with a few acres around them.

    Such in-comers had begun arrived in dribs and drabs from the 1970s. They cleared scrub and stones from small plots of land, brought in topsoil and grew unusual vegetables in things called polytunnels.

    Indigenous locals knew the “pollies” were different from friable glass houses that the gentry in Big Houses used in walled gardens. Sceptical locals also thought that reconditioning the soil for vegetable tunnels and trying to make ends meet by keeping she-goats for milk and cheese was a hopeless enterprise.

    They were right. Some in-comers worked their guts out, became ill in mind and body and returned to their urban societies.

    I tried to paint a broad picture of this, the North-West, the West and the South-West mostly, in a 2007 article published in a fringe pacifist magazine edited by a friend in Belfast. Read it see what you think. Link: Blow-in rural settlers made an impact in Ireland (innatenonviolence.org).

    Relative Affluence

    Relative affluence came to Leitrim and nearby counties when Ireland became awash with EU money and foreign direct investment, systematically enabled by the Industrial Development Authority (IDA).

    We were told that the housing boom of the 1990s until the financial meltdown of September 2008 filled the coffers of county councils and gave local employment. Polish and other immigrant workers aided the indigenous workforce. The intelligent Poles remitted money; some repatriated savings for business start-ups; a few married Irish locals – beneficial to both societies.

    I know of country folk who never caught sight of the money sloshing about in ‘the economy’ of the Celtic Tiger era. They lived frugally to the end of their days. Then dispersed relatives either left the ancestral cottage to rot or sold it off to divide the money.

    An originally German real estate agency, Schiller & Schiller, sold lots of derelict cottages in Leitrim and Sligo. Dublin-based Sherry FitzGerald did its business. Leitrim and Sligo agencies sold many places. Sites near towns and important roads sold well. Off-road properties in the back of beyond were left to dereliction.

    Urban statistical numbers crunchers don’t realize that North Leitrim (from Ballinamore to Kinlough and Kiltyclogher) differs in developmental growth from South Leitrim.

    The county town of Carrick-on-the-Shannon is ideally situated on the Shannon with its cabin cruiser tourism. The Sligo to Dublin railway line and the frequent bus services are an added boon. Dromod, Jamestown and Rooskey have also experienced increases in population along with opportunities in the food and hospitality sector. Rooskey alas witnessed recent hostility to an empty hotel being made ready for refugee and asylum seekers. There was mysterious arson, possibly with involvement by outside racists.

    Kurds

    Carrick-on-Shannon was the major hub of Leitrim’s housing boom. Before the bust government agencies leased new houses to settle Kurdish refugees from Iraq and nearby danger zones. Asylum seekers from Africa and elsewhere also arrived in the town. Some Kurdish families settled into a low income working class estate where I saw children happily running around with Irish peers.

    We may assume they went through the local schooling system and acquired local accents. In downtown Carrick a Kurdish shop selling foodstuffs of oriental and Middle Eastern provenance opened and did good business until Covid restrictions.

    Meanwhile asylum seekers, who later took out Irish nationality and became members of the New Irish, sought group cohesion through Sunday services with a London-linked African apostolic faith group, held in a hired hotel room. African Baptists and independents found fellowship with relevant communities around town. Catholics blended into schools and parish life – along with believing Polish residents.

    Drumshanbo, linked by canal to the nearby Shannon, is half an hour’s drive north of Carrick. It was the site for Lairds Jams factory. The factory is long closed, but during the recent past has been regenerated as an industrial park.

    Whiskey and gin distilling are among new enterprises. Gunpowder gin has become a famous export. Has it arrived in Hong Kong to take its place on supermarket shelves beside the local Gunpowder Tea I wonder?

    Drumshanbo is the only town that continues to stage an An Tostal (“Ireland at Home”) festival – now named after Councillor Joe Mooney who promoted it – which governments during the depressed years of 1953-54 encouraged to drum up (excuse the pun) flagging national morale.

    The town holds another festival featuring delightful temporary sculptures made from hay and silage bales. Drumshanbo is on the way up because it has a self-confident community spirit and entrepreneurs making deft use of government-assisted inducement grants.

    Image: Morgan Bolger

    Northern Stasis

    By contrast, North Leitrim has seemed to languish in a glass half-empty stasis. Manorhamilton is the main town. Its name derives from Hamilton’s Castle built during the period of the Cromwellian conquest. Originally it was known as Cluainín Ui Ruaric – O’Rourke’s Meadows.

    This Gaelic chieftain was executed at the Tower of London for failing to submit to the colonial authority of Elizabeth I. Manorhamilton became a run-down town especially after the privately owned The Sligo, Leitrim and Northern Counties Railway (SL&NCR) railway line that operated between Enniskillen and Sligo closed down in October 1957. This and containerization radically affected the cattle trade. Old family run shops closed. The main street today has numerous boarded up shops, while the old Central Hotel is no longer in operation.

    But in the wake of Covid, Manorhamilton is slowly clawing its way back. A few factories established with IDA grants have offered job opportunities.

    A number of strongly motivated entrepreneurs have sunk big bucks into developing off a side street what is called the W8 Centre. Modern buildings with a good restaurant on ground floor and self-catering apartments on the top floors have been designed to attract holiday makers from Dublin and beyond.

    Moreover, local history and heritage activists are pushing for Manorhamilton, with old buildings and historic political associations, to be declared a National Heritage Town.

    The town also has the Leitrim Sculpture Centre. A few people from Dublin and England who did ten-month sculpture courses – previously financed by FĀS – fell in love with the area and settled into renovated cottages.

    Today the Centre has residencies for emerging sculptors and they add to the lake and woodland landscape with site-appropriate sculpture trails. The Glens Centre caters for visual arts and drama in an old Methodist Church that was replaced due to a diminishing congregation by a smaller church nearby.

    One sporting innovation is the revival of handball, with encouragement and training of local girls and boys, using a reconditioned handball alley that fell into neglect a few decades ago.

    Dromahair Castle, 1791.

    Dromahair

    The village of Dromahair, with close job links to nearby Sligo town, grew considerably during the housing boom. Sadly, one still sees some houses that weren’t completed before the 2008 bust that vacant.

    It seems the Council is powerless to do anything. Would a constitutional amendment to Article 15 on property rights give local authorities effective powers to sort out the empty property syndrome?

    Dromahair has benefited from the practical talents of several incomers. One German national who restored old cottages in the area set up a successful candle making enterprise. Read here my interview with him: Pete Kern – Craft candle maker – BeesWax Candles Ireland

    In 2017 Rosemary Kerrigan and some other local like-minded colleagues were pleased to dress up in period costume and witness the official opening opposite the old railway station of a 1.2km demonstration Greenway on the old line that connected the village with other places.

    The Big Dream, of Kerrigan and the small group who labored to create the demonstration is that state backing will soon enable governments in Dublin and Belfast to develop a cross-border Greenway for cyclists and walkers linking Sligo, Collooney, Ballintogher, Dromahair, Manorhamilton, Glenfarne, Blacklion, Belcoo and Enniskillen.

    This Greenway will invite domestic and foreign tourists to savour the scenic and cultural joys of Sligo, Leitrim, Cavan and Fermanagh. The demonstration stretch, bordered by trees and hedges protecting a SAC, has convinced British, Irish and EU dispensing inter-regional and peace funding to act. Monies have been voted and statutory consultations are taking place before work commences.

    Local Campaigns

    North Leitrim’s potential is thwarted by bureaucratic and material blockages. Decisions made and policies pursued by officialdom and companies have aroused suspicion and dismay.

    Protest groups have responded to some unwelcome phenomena. Take the decision to allow private companies to prospect for gold on Leitrim hills and along river concourses.

    Treasure Leitrim holds area meetings, distributes information brochures with maps and warns of what gold mining has done in other countries. Love Leitrim is an active anti-fracking campaign group.

    Another concern is about the visual and health impact of hillside electricity generation clusters.  Some windmillification has occurred, often by stealth, taking residents by surprise. Windmills emit a ‘white noise’ that campaigners say badly affects hearing and sleeping patterns.

    Yet another concern is about the tree planting policies of Coillte and its links with foreign investors. The curse of sitka spruce tree planting and short-term harvesting, leading to soil acidification, is decried.

    Ecological activists are happy that Coillte is steadily laying out forest trails for public recreation access in many localities, but say that indigenous tree species such as hazel, sycamore, alder, Scots pine, elm and so on, are under-appreciated. There is anger and distrust; government spokespersons and Coillte personnel argue with campaigning critics.

    The Organic Centre, Rossinver. Image: Morgan Bolger

    Organic Centre

    Individuals from the UK and Leinster who settled in North Leitrim (and many other counties of course) from the 1970s onwards went on to establish the Organic Centre at Rossinver, adjacent to Lough Melvin and the border with Fermanagh.

    The Organic Centre is on ordinary land with outside and enclosed spaces – polytunnels and a catering and classroom building featuring a live grass all-weather roof.

    It is purposely family friendly with play corners for children. Despite the practical achievements of the Organic Centre and the organic farming of UK and continental settlers throughout the county, attempts by Green Party candidates to win votes in local and general elections have been in vain.

    Farmers are set in their ways and suspicious of Green Party influence. Fine Gael and Fianna Fail, the two largest parties historically, and increasingly Sinn Fein attract most support, while a few strong independents win Council seats.

    What does Leitrim need? People need to branch out into new farming methods and recommence growing fruit and vegetables (as in the old days) while continuing to reduce livestock numbers and thereby reduce emissions.

    People need to see that similar challenges also face adjoining counties – West Cavan, Roscommon, Mayo and Donegal for example.

    In his pioneering work, Small is Beautiful: economics as if people mattered (1973) the eco-economist E. F. Schumacher developed the slogan Think Global and Act Local. For Leitrim today it might be adapted to Think Regional and Act Local.

    Slogans are catchy but are no substitute for reversal of unwanted policies. Parochial thinking is prevalent among elected representatives. Many promise to drain the flood rivers, to fix the roads or to save the rural post offices. Tá said ag snamh in agaidh easa with some promises. Vain promises should never be made and only keep the glass half empty.

    Feature Image: Morgan Bolger

  • Spent Batteries

    The shop sign was in a Youghal side street, and it said Afro Crafts and Groceries. The right half of the window displayed cooking oil, tinned spices, bottled sauces and small bags of beans and lentils. On the left, a selection of small paintings of village and river fishing scenes, were cramped by colourful patchwork, miniature handcarved drums, wooden masks, animals and human figures. The carving of a village woman carrying a water jug on her head jolted Hal’s memory. Dark as the one his Dad had kept on the mantelpiece.

    “Let’s come back here tomorrow, after a day at the beach,” Hal suggested to Jeanette. During the drive to the caravan they’d rented in Ardmore, though it was thirty years ago, Hal told her about his father’s stint as a volunteer agriculturist in Tanzania.

    The following day, after a swim and a stroll, Jeanette ambled off on her own. The Afro Crafts and Groceries was open and empty, in the after dinner shade. Among the groceries were Barry’s Tea, tins of sardines and processed peas. Packets marked Siucra, shared shelves alongside cane sugar from Mauritius. Bags of maize meal, couscous and soya beans proclaimed the shop’s African dimension, and even more so the display of wrapped frozen cuts of goat, oxtail and whole bream in the display freezer. Hal selected a plastic jar of mild Caribbean curry, and a small tin of Kenyan pineapples; souvenirs that would not go astray in his Cork kitchen cupboard.

    Placing the items on the counter beside the cash register, he headed over to browse the alcove laden with crafts.

    First he flipped through a colourful bundle of batiks decorated with a motif of women and men at work, and wild animals. The wood carvings showed skill, but some of the masks erred on the side of kitsch.

    Stretching deeper into the window, he lifted out the black ebony carving of a woman balancing a water jug on her head.

    “From south-central Tanzania, Bwana. She is taking water from the river to her hut in the village.” The African shopkeeper now appeared quietly at Hal’s side.

    “Made from a single piece of timber?” asked Hal, turning the figure he held upside down, and fingering the varnished grain of the heavy base.

    “From a tree trunk. They first cut the local forest trees and chop the branches for firewood with pangas.”

    “And the trunks?”

    “Two men sawed these tree trunks. Kazi kweli – lots of work, we say in Kiswahili. But the carvers pay them, some local, some in other places of Tanzania, such as Kondowe.” The shopkeeper smiled faintly after his burst of English fluency. “You want other carvings? Some more I have in boxes behind.” nodding towards an open rear door.

    “This woman with the water pot interests me.”

    A holidaymaker entered the shop and began browsing around, which brought the African shopkeeper back to his cash desk.

    Hal recalled snatches of conversation with his father. Peter Sheridan hadn’t opened up often about his East Africa days. He and a young British volunteer had driven around in a 4-wheel drive Toyota pickup. If they didn’t have bundles of timber, pipes or cement in the back, they took on casual passengers: pedestrians flagged them down, on the way to Kilosa or on the potholed dirt roads to distant Dar-es-Salaam. The isolated town itself, offered limited craic.

    “My late father did agricultural work in Tanzania in the late sixties, helping small farmers with livestock and growing food.“ Explained Hal, approaching the cash register once the only other customer had left.

    “Kazi ya maendeleo – development work, as we say.“ The African’s eyes brightened as he extended his hand. Hal grasped it. “There were some young wageni –  foreigners-  in the town near our village. They worked for the British company.”

    “Voluntary Service Overseas: VSO. They recruited from Ireland too,“ Hal elaborated. He raised the wood carving still in his left hand. “He brought back something like this from a place called Tar… Tarande, I think.“

    “You mean Tarandawe? Kweli kabisa!“ Dropping any semblence of formality, the shopkeeper stared Hal in the face.

    “Tarandawe, as you say. Some hours drive south of Kilosa, beside a tributary of the Rufiji river. He said there were elephants in a forest upriver.“

    The African’s demeanour changed from surprise to certainty. “The Mindenzi is a small river near our village and passes through the forest into Rufiji. The men hunt small animals there but that government does not allow to kill the elephant.“

    “Any more carvings like this?“ Hal stood the pot-carrier on the counter, beside the tinned pineapple and plastic curry jar.

    “You must ask Margarethe. She stays at the hostel for asylum seekers. Her friend sends boxes from Tanzania. Her village was in the district where the VSO company put down water pipes for the shambas – small farms.“

    “You’re both from the same area? Did you know each other before coming to Europe?“ Assuming they were asylum seekers, Hal kept the questions general. No need to pry.

    “I have a Portuguese wife, and passport of Portugal. Margarethe and myself, we were strangers, but many from Tarandawe went down to Cabora Bassa to build a big dam for electricity on Zambesi River in Mozambique. Few escudos and hard work. Margarethe’s mother cooked posho for the workers and the little girl just played with other children.“

    “Did Margarethe’s father work on the dam?“

    The African hesitated. “She never knew her father. Her mother was… alone. I became like her uncle. We could sometimes collect firewood, but the Portuguese soldiers supervised. We feared their rifles. Soldiers shot freedom fighters in the forest.“

    Hal paid for his goods and asked the whereabouts of the asylum hotel. At the Cork end of town, it was a B & B cobbled together by the amalgamation of two adjoining houses. In a grassy front garden, he spied two rustic benches and a garden table. An Asian child peddled a plastic tricycle around a mother, absorbed in her embroidery, on the patio.

    A girl helping in the kitchen told Hal that Margarethe was away visiting friends in Cork, so he took the telephone number and walked back to meet Jeanette near the old clock gate on main street.

    During Sunday lunch with his mother and younger sister at the family home, Hal mentioned the Afro shop coincidence. Had Dad mentioned much about Tarandawe village? His mother denied that his talk had been anything but technical: damaged irrigation pipes, difficult road conditions, and the odd reference to wildlife and vegetation.

    “The volunteers found Tarandawe a lonesome spot. Drinking weekends in one or two decrepit bars and dancing freestyle on the bar floor with anyone around to the accompaniment of scratchy Congolese rumba music. The music got weird whenever batteries ran down. No electricity, so tilley lamps and candles lit up the gloomy nights.“

    “The one luxury he brought to Africa was his shortwave radio. Listened to it a lot in the dark evenings.“ Hal was happy to add one of the few details his dad had told him as a child. “Must have used up a lot of those batteries, too. Social life must have been pretty zero for young white fellows?“ Hal mused.

    “That’s why VSO field officers came their way twice a year in a Land Rover, bringing tinned food, wine and old newspapers. Volunteers had an annual expenses-paid get-together in Dar, and bunked down at each others’ houses during holidays.“ Hal’s mother shuffled in her armchair. “Your Dad did his development bit, saw a few sights, and came back. Then he met me at a co-op dance in Mitchelstown.“

    As his mother flipped through a Sunday supplement, Hal fetched the old photo album and pored over the ageing black and white snapshots of people. His father and an English mate posed with them. There were photos of working farmers and a longshot outside Kanjenje Bar in the village, looking like something out of a wild west film, except for the tropical flowers and palms. Among holiday snaps in faraway Dar es Salaam, there was one of his dad with two African men beside the bar entrance. Another was a closeup of his father standing at the same spot, next to a young village woman in a patterned headscarf.

    A couple of weeks later, Hal phoned the Youghal hostel and asked for Margarethe. “Miss Sichalisi hasn’t returned from the Afro grocery yet. She helps out there unofficially, until the Dublin officials decide on her application. When he inquired if she would be at the shop on the following Saturday, The response was, “Probably.“

    On a dry morning in Youghal, Hal parked his car, then strolled to the shop. The African man was again at the cash register, and introduced a fair-skinned woman who looked to be in her forties. “My wife Francesca,“ he said, after shaking hands. “We first met in Cabora, before she fled back to Tarandawe, after freedom fighters started moving against Portuguese soldiers. We got married and flew to Lisboa. But now we are trying for a new life, in Youghal.“

    “My contacts in Lisbon and Maputo send us the foodstuffs, and also some crafts. Margarethe gets the wood carvings through associates in Dar. Come into the back room and meet her.“ Explained Francesca before she led Hal into a storeroom with wall shelves and boxes.

    “Odi. Margarethe,“ Francesca called.

    A woman, wearing a short sleeved red chemise over smart white slacks, entered through the doorway from a kitchenette. She had to be in her late twenties, just a few years junior to Hal. Her fawn colored curls complemented a caramel complexion, interrupted by patches of paler pigmentation. Not nearly as dark as her older African “uncle,“ Magarethe extended her hand as Francesca introduced, “Mr. Hal is from Cork city. He likes the Tarandawe wood carvings.“

    “I have to be in the shop, so you can show Mr. Hal the new stock from Dar,“ suggested Francesca, before she left them alone.

    Margarethe unloaded several carved objects from a packing case, for Hal’s inspection.

    He picked up a carving of a woman with a water pot on her head. “My father told me that many villages in Tanzania have no piped water.“

    Her eyes were on the carving as Margarethe answered, “African women have walked to rivers and water holes for thousands of years. Our village was near the river. The women got water and washed clothes at the river bank.“

    “Was it the Mindenzi River?“ asked Hal, eager to show an informed interest.

    At this, Margarethe’s polite reserve dissolved, and eyes sparkling, she placed the bust of a bearded old man on the table. “Mindenzi. You know it? No, it was a smaller river that soon joined Mindenzi. A British aid company brought pipes. Our villagers dug trenches. My mother helped, and so my grandparents had water for the kitchen. But still the women go to the river to wash clothes.“

    “Your uncle mentioned the Mindenzi, last time I was here. He says it flows through Tarande.“ Hal knew he was once more mispronouncing the name of the place.

    “Tarandawe“ corrected Margarethe, “is the market village of the district. The foreign workers lived there.“

    “My late father, Peter…Peter Sheridan, worked for VSO… the British aid group, in Tarandawe. It was about thirty years ago. Perhaps he helped your mother and others to lay those water pipes.“ Hal was looking directly at Margarethe now. Her left hand  went up to her cheek, before it covered her mouth in an attempt to conceal the soft sigh she emitted. Dabbing under her eyelids, she excused herself, producing a paper tissue from her handbag. Once composed, she looked at Hal. “My mother took me, as a child, to Cabora Bassa. She cooked for the workers. My friend, now Uncle Josam, was there. Sometimes we returned to our village for holidays. You are Hal… Sheridan?“

    Hal nodded.

    “Then you are the son of Bwana Peter, the white boy that drove the Toyota truck?“

    “My father Peter worked in Tanzania after graduation. Yes, Peter Sheridan – he died of cancer in 1998. He was a volunteer in Tarandawe. After a two-year stint he came back to Cork.“

    “My mother, she passed away, so I came to Europe with the help of Josam and Francesca. I think I am now home – if the Dublin office gives me a residence permit. With God’s help, here is my home.“

    Hal selected two carvings of water pot women, and another of a giraffe.

    “I’d like to come here again with my fiancé, Jeanette. We could take you to a restaurant. I’m curious to know more about Tarandawe and my father’s time there.“

    Hal paid Francesca at the cash desk. As he turned towards the exit, Margarethe offered him a business card.

    “I am sure we will meet often.“ She smiled as Hal stuffed the card unread into his shirt pocket. She followed him out and extended her hand in farewell. “You are welcome here always, Hal. Always,“ she said, sounding almost like a sister.

    Back in the Cork flat, Hal put the carvings on his mantelpiece. Sipping lager from a stem glass, he withdrew the business card from his shirt pocket. At the left edge, he saw a silhouette of a palm tree, with Afro Crafts & Groceries prominently centered in green capital letters. Underneath appeared the rubric Manager: Francesca da Silva. In smaller print, at the bottom of the card, Hal read a second rubric – Craft Sales Agent: Margarethe Sichalisi-Sheridan.

    Garreth Byrne worked in schools and promoted agriculture in East & Central Africa, and later taught English in China. He now lives in Leitrim and has no African progeny to declare.